


What the Future Holds

by ShatteredHalo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Answer Questions Please, Bookstore Owner, Destiel - Freeform, Interactive, Kinda Maybe Slow Burn, M/M, Oops I Punched You, Participation Grade, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-06-30 21:41:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15760254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShatteredHalo/pseuds/ShatteredHalo
Summary: An Interactive Fan Fiction where the audience (you lovely readers :) ) get to decide which direction the story travels in!





	1. How It Works

Hi there! So I know I definitely don't have enough readers to be starting this but I'm hoping that enough word might get out that people start jumping on board and participating and shit like that!

So this is going to be an interactive fan fiction! I'm going to start my story and then at the end of every chapter I'll ask what direction certain things will go in, kinda like a literary video game that everybody plays at once.

You'll vote in the comments because that's the easiest way to do this, and the majority of votes toward a certain subject will determine how the story progresses!

Let's have a little example, shall we?

Adam and Brady (because *Person A* *Person B*) were talking at lunch because they're in high school.  Brady has recently been enrolled at Common-name High School and has somehow joined in Adam's circle of friends because Adam's a good kid and he wanted to be nice to the new guy.  While at lunch somebody makes a joke and Brady is visibly offended but (character trait) Adam jokes about it and takes it a little too far because he's used to joking with his buddies and such. 

Chapter would end there, and then in the notes I would ask something like

So obviously Brady is offended and shit, should he do something about it? Tell me if you think Brady should confront Adam or just sweep it under the rug

Adam knows he offended Brady because he's not quite that stupid, is he embarrassed about it enough to apologize or should he leave it up in the air and totally ignore the elephant in the room whenever he's around Brady?

Then the comments would then decide whether or not they would talk about it or just let the tension stretch out.  Sometimes I might ask for a reason for your decision, sometimes I might not, but you can always leave your thoughts along with your vote.  If I ask for an explanation it can be as simple as:

"I think Adam should not apologize because he seems a little too prideful for that"

"I think Brady should tell Adam he was offended because I DON'T LIKE CONFLICT"

I can literally just be 'AVOID THIS DONT HURT THE CHILDREN' xD I want opinions as well as critical thinking.

 

So this is going to be a Destiel fan fiction because That is currently the only thing I am interested in writing haha.

I'll get started on Chapter 1 and hopefully I've caught some attention by that point and people are willing to participate!

Thanks for reading! :)

 


	2. Brutal Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is just a rough first chapter to get the ball rolling. There’s a few questions at the end, if you wouldn’t mind answering them that would be amazing. The more responses I get in a shorter amount of time will attribute to how fast and how frequent updates are.   
> Enjoy :)

The night was chilly, and the scent of rain hung heavy and low with the clouds, promising a night of rain tapping on the roofs of sleeping homes and a morning of lazy clouds and wet grass. Castiel stepped out into the night and surveyed the scene, quiet and eerie in a way that made time warp slightly. He tried as much as he could to keep his back to the door of the little bookshop he owned, but it’s difficult to lock up a building if you can’t see where you’re supposed to put the key. 

Turning around a tad too hastily and shaking off the moment of paranoia that always accompanied having his back to a dimly lit street near two in the morning, Castiel slipped his fingers through the loops of the brass knuckles he’d bought for himself a few weeks ago, scanning the street for anyone present. 

Maybe it was stupid, and maybe he was a grown ass man who could, if necessary, hold himself in a fight, but he felt safer with a concealable weapon hidden on his person somewhere. Two in the morning was just after all the bars in town closed for the night, and Castiel had had one too many close calls at this ungodly hour to not feel a need to take extra and unnecessary precautions. He couldn’t hold a gun without shaking, so concealed carry was out of the question. Stabbing somebody seemed too serious for his liking, and there were too many problems with that, (what if he couldn’t pull it out? What if they blocked it and disarmed him, then he’d really be fucked) so he decided on something that’d make the least amount of mess, as well as something that couldn’t be easily pulled from him (and coincidentally had the least probability of actually killing anybody). Brass knuckles. He tucked his hand into his pocket and started down the street towards his apartment. It wasn’t like he was a small guy or anything. He was about six feet tall and not by any means thin or weak, but you can never be too cautious, right?

Castiel stopped walking when he heard a noise  somewhere ahead of him, listening intently and pulling his weaponized hand out of his pocket. He said nothing for now, enough horror movies viewed in the early hours of the dawn had taught him exactly what not to do if you expected to be attacked or taken.

Now despite those ‘lessons’, (that’s how Castiel saw them: lessons. He was teaching himself how not to get killed via scaring the absolute shit out of himself) Castiel kept walking. He wanted to get home sometime before three o’clock, and if he didn’t keep walking then there was absolutely no way that would be happening. Castiel kept himself in check, making sure his senses were alert, his ears attuned to any unnatural sound, his eyes sweeping the sidewalk and the street constantly, but he let his mind drift.  He had some things that needed doing at home... mail needed to be collected, plants needed to be watered, laundry done... he made a mental list of things that needed done before he could collapse into bed, and a separate, longer list of things that could wait until he wasn't bone-tired.

Luckily, Castiel made it within view of his apartment building in a decent time frame. He sighed with relief, letting his guard loosen a little now that he was nearly home. 

This proved to be a massive mistake. He was three buildings down from his own when he heard it, a shuffling near the corner of the building he was coming close to. Craving to be home and out of the damp, cold air, Castiel kept walking, albeit at a slower pace, sending up a silent prayer, asking that tonight not be the night where he got brutally murdered by some drunk guy with an appetite for blood. 

_Just cross the street. I just have to cross the street and I’ll be home._

Castiel picked up the pace ever so sightly And was immediately barreled into by a guy that was definitely bigger than he was as soon as he passed the corner of the building. Going to his own defense at what seemed the snap of his fingers, Castiel distanced himself as much as needed before throwing a wild and messy right hook into the stranger, hoping to hit something hard enough to be able to escape to his building. 

He hadn’t had to use the brass knuckles up until this point, and definitely had not calculated the amount of inertia it would add to his punch.  Castiel flew in the direction his punch had been sent in, following it almost to the ground and stumbling on the way.  It was an awkward dance with both gravity and his own limbs being massively in the way as he attempted to get away from the attacker and not fall at the same time.  Half of that equation was cancelled out, however, when Castiel heard over the adrenaline pounding in his eardrums, 

"Son of a Bitch!"

He stopped, whirled around, and faced whoever it was that had full-body blasted into him just moments earlier, cradling his hand as if he himself had been the one injured, and not the guy who had gotten cracked in the jaw (possibly?) with half a pound of brass backed up by an adrenaline-fueled fist.

"Sorry?" Castiel asked dumbly, finally coming to his senses and pulling the weapon off his fingers and hiding it in his pocket.

"I said," The man began, words slightly distorted by the hand cradling half his face, "Son of a  _Bitch_."

_He wasn't trying to fucking attack me. I am a goddamn idiot. Why did I do that? Why am I so on edge?_ That was followed by:  _I'm not a target, I'm not a small female, I'm just a paranoid idiot._

Castiel walked up to the man, apologies on the tip of his tongue and absolutely no idea how to begin with any one of them.  The stranger was bent at the waist, as if being lower to the ground would ease the agony in his face.  Castiel placed a hand on the guy's shoulder and the stranger wheeled back, moving about as quickly away as humanly possible.

"Whoa, I'm not going to hit you again, I apologize for that, let me look at your face." Castiel apologized weakly, attempting to take another step forward toward the guy. He felt like such an idiot.  Too on edge to think that maybe somebody was just walking down the street, same as he was, and happened to collide with somebody on accident, only to get a sharp blow to the face.  Castiel reached for the man's shoulder again, "I'm so sorry." he said, pulling the man away from the edge of the sidewalk, "Did I get you bad?" 

Startlingly bright green eyes looked at him with an intense look of both shock and fear, which made the sinking stone of guilt drop in Castiel's stomach even further.

"I don't know. I don't exactly have a mirror." The stranger retorted sarcastically.  There was a slight drag to his words, not quite a slur, and a sway in his stance that could have been attributed to by the blow recently landed to his face, or could have been another clue in the pieces Castiel put together in his head: this man was most likely intoxicated.

"Move your hand and I'll tell you if you need stitches." Castiel directed, reaching up to push the man's hand to the side. The guy hesitated, side-eyeing Castiel heavily before he uncovered his face, hissing a little as pressure left the wound. There was a nice indent on his left cheekbone, as well as a pretty good-sized scratch running the length of it.  Castiel sucked air through his teeth, "Shit, this is what I get for arming myself, huh?" he muttered under his breath, running his thumb lightly along the underside of the scratch, which made the stranger flinch "I don't think it's too terribly deep but-" He was cut off when the man swayed backwards on his heels.  Castiel grabbed his shirt where he was holding at the shoulder, drunk then, not just dizzy.

"There's a wound that needs cleaned, allow me to help, please?"

The stranger stared into his eyes for a moment and Castiel felt himself flush slightly.

"What's your name?" Castiel asked, slipping the man's arm over his shoulders to keep him from swaying off balanced he to either his intoxication or a possible concussion (highly doubtful, but Castiel couldn’t be too sure).

"Hm? Oh uh, name’s Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 - Should they go to Dean's house or Castiel's house
> 
> 2 - Should either of them develop crushes very quickly? Why or why not?
> 
> 3 - How drunk is Dean on a scale of Tipsy-Top Five Worst Hangovers
> 
> 4 - Cas owns a bookstore! Name suggestions?


End file.
